Ocean Soul
by thePhantom'sEvenstar
Summary: An angel or a demon? A madman or a genius? A ghost or a man? Made of my nightmares or my dreams? I cannot tell any longer...
1. The Choice: Part One

A/N: Hi and thanks for checking this out! It turns out that going to the Opera Garnier and hunting around for Evidence of Erik is just what I needed inspiration-wise! I know retellings are often done, but hey, each one is different. Please review if you get the chance—constructive criticism is welcome, but please be respectful. Flames are a waste of time and energy—both mine and yours so do yourself a favor and don't bother. Special thanks to my friend and beta, Mademoiselle Christine Daaé.

Title note: The title for this phanphic was taken from one of my favorite songs ever, Ocean Soul by Nightwish. Check the lyrics, they are (in my opinion) rather Erik )

Erik—full mask; not Leroux but not exactly Kay either.

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I making profit from, The Phantom of the Opera. They belong respectively to Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, Susan Kay, countless others, and of course, the amazing Gaston Leroux.

One last note: I know this is a very short chapter. Future chapters will be longer.

OOOOO

_Christine_

His golden eyes bore into me like fire searing away my flesh. I couldn't bring myself to meet his stare for I couldn't bear to see the grief and betrayal that smoldered in their hypnotic depths. It was all I could do to keep from drowning in the shame of knowing it was _me_ who put it there. As always, I wanted the easy way out. But Erik had never made anything easy.

Raoul whimpered from inside the torture chamber that was cleverly hidden behind the walls in the house by the lake. I tried to suppress the sob that had risen in my throat and shuddered in my attempt. My small show of compassion for Raoul angered Erik further and his long, bony fingers curled into fists at his side as he was overcome with silent rage. This animated anger did not frighten me as his cold anger did, but instead wounded my soul with his crushing emotions. When he spoke, his beautiful voice was so twisted in fury that it was hardly recognizable.

"Am I truly that horrible, Christine? Am I honestly so repulsive that you would sooner kill your _lover,_" he spit the word out as if it were poison, "then stay with me? My God, Christine, I would do anything for you! Don't you know that? I would put the world at your feet if you but stayed. If you could only pretend with me, for even just a little while, you would never want for anything again." For a moment all was quiet and there was no past or future, there was only now. And my heart cried out with love for this poor, broken soul who adored me as no one else ever could. For this moment I no longer feared him and wanted nothing more than to promise myself to him. But another of Raoul's moans echoed through the room and the hope that had seeped into my soul rushed out as Erik regained his terrifying dominance. "Yes…yes, I am that abhorrent. Curse my child-like ignorance for abandoning all my reason and beginning to hope. Curse you—this Angel sent from God in a last fit of vengeance! How dare a demon learn of love!"

He pivoted on his heel, sweeping away from me in a whirl of black, swift as a shadow. And with that, he was gone.

A few minutes later there was a grating sound of a very heavy door being opened and Raoul stumbled through the doorway, weak and barely conscious. I hurried towards him and quickly sat him on the couch to give him some time to recover his composure. Raoul, however, wouldn't stand for that. "Come, Lotte, we must leave now! Before that _beast_ returns!"

I tried to soothe him by whispering in a calm tone. "No, Raoul, it's all right. He left. He isn't coming back. We're safe now. He's gone." Raoul looked back at me with wild eyes. Slowly, relieved comprehension softened his handsome features as he let out a long sigh and drew me to him.

"Oh, thank God, Christine, thank God! I was so worried he would take you away from me forever! But now at last we are free of that madman for once and all! And I promise that he shall never see you again." Sudden tears filled my eyes and I blinked back hard, willing them not to fall. Surely safety was not supposed to feel so lonesome. I was out of harm's way with my childhood sweetheart and there was a lovely estate and fine title waiting for me when I chose to take it. The life now ahead of me was filled with light, security, and prediction—three things that I could not remember when I last, if ever, possessed them. I just needed to train myself to forget. _Someday_, I told myself, _this nightmare will all be in the past and will have faded to a hazy memory with blurred lines…the Music of the Night that has played within my head will diminish until it is nothing more than a vaguely familiar tune…the love I have for Erik will disappear and it will be like he never existed…I will be free. _But bringing my eyes up to meet Raoul's I felt a profound sense of loss. The clear blue orbs were nothing like the smoldering ambers that I missed. And it occurred to me, that truth, which I had been fighting all along—as far as belonging to Erik was concerned, I had never wanted to be free. It's funny how things have come full circle…

A/N: The phic will retrace the entire story of Phantom in the following chapters before finally catching up to the point it is at now.


	2. The Beginning

A/N: Hello again! It seems the inspiration fairy is still here; let's hope she stays forever! In case this is confusing, _**the entire story**_ (unless noted otherwise) will be told from _**Christine's POV**_ and will begin from when she first enters the Opera House working up until where the first chapter was and then continuing after.

**Also: Updates will not always be this slow! So so sorry!**

Jaquie: I am sorry that I did not email this to you, but you seem quite out of it this summer and I am worried since I have not heard back from you. Please email me, dear. I do hope that things are a bit better than when last we talked. If you indeed would like to keep beta-ing and whatnot let me know, if you need a break, I understand. You will still be my favorite, Jaquie. I send you hugs and love.

pastheart: Thank you so much for your review (and for putting this on Story Alert and for the sweet PM)! The first review of a story is always treasured. I will try to pop over and read some of your work soon.

authorgirl: Thanks for reviewing, dear. I'd love to say I'll update frequently, and I sure will try, but school starts soon and gah…between drama clubs and the workload of Honors courses Junior year…well let's just hope it's better than last year, lol. Hope to hear some more of you work soon :)

Mirror to My Soul: Love the penname! Thanks for your kind reviews. As I told you earlier, they really made my day )

LonsomeGurlAngelofDeath: Thanks for putting me on story alert! Maybe if you find a moment you could review…wink wink. Lol, it's just good to know I have people reading!

OOOOO

The wind stung my face and eyes as I struggled to keep up with Mamma Valérius. I bit my chapped bottom lip to keep back the tears—whether from the harsh elements or the series of grievous events that had recently taken place, I could not tell.

"Hurry, _ma cherie_, it would not do us well to be late." Mamma squeezed my hand as she rushed me along the Richelieu-Drouot. It mid morning, about ten, and despite the chill in the air the sun shone brightly down on the city of Paris. As we neared the Opéra, my breath caught in my throat.

Of course I had seen the Opera House before in passing, but it always amazed me by its regal air. I used to daydream about singing there as the Prima Donna while an audience full of wealthy patrons in their silk gowns and glittering jewels applauded me fervently and exclaimed that my voice was the likes of none that they had heard before. Then as suddenly as I let myself begin to hope, I stopped abruptly. 'There now,' I would scold myself, 'you must not get caught up in such absurd fancies. You know that is not likely to happen. No, no; you will stay a member of the chorus and corps de ballet, though maybe if you are terribly lucky you may get a small role or a featured dance.' The truth was, as much as I should so desperately have loved to sing the lead; I knew that I could never bring myself to audition. In truth I had not sung for an audience in years, nor had I played my violin. The day my father died I quieted my voice and kept my violin safe in its case. But every now and then, when I was sure I was alone, I would sing to my father up in heaven and beg him to send me the Angel of Music. Sometimes I would sing to the Angel, but neither he nor my father would ever answer. Mamma didn't say it, but I knew she thought I was too old to be caught up in such fairy tales. I was nearly twelve, twice the age that most girls are when they cease filling their pretty heads with such silly nonsense. Still Mamma never said anything to me, and I made sure not to mention anything to her regarding the tales Papa used to tell. How could she—or anyone for that matter—understand? I had to believe in the Angel of Music. He was all I had left.

I couldn't help but stare as we climbed the stairs to front doors. All around the Opéra were busts of famous composers with their name engraved underneath in gold. Cherubs and seraphs adorned the building, beautifully carved out of stone and cradling instruments in their perfect arms. On the roof stood large horses rearing back on their hind legs, angels with trumpets and harps, and Apollo with his lyre. Golden masks crowned the structure and reminded me of the icing piped along the ridge of the expensive cakes served at the parties my father and I used to perform at. It was grand in its splendor—a kingdom of sorts—and was now to be my home. I unsuccessfully suppressed the hope that somewhere inside resided my Angel of Music.

The morning was a bit of a blur. I was introduced to the acting-manager and ballet mistress—M. Gabriel and Mme. Giry. A girl about my age with pale blonde hair and clear blue eyes named Meg (the daughter of the ballet mistress, in fact) showed me to the dormitories where I would stay during the week. On the weekends I was allowed to return to Mamma Valérius' flat if I wished to. By the time everything had been settled and proper ballet slippers and a rehearsal leotard had been found for me the morning practices had finished. Meg informed me that afternoon/evening practices were from two until nine so we had a one hour break for lunch and time to go to dinner following rehearsal. Mamma had left me a bit of money which she supposed would last me until Saturday so Meg and I left to find a cheap café for a bite to eat.

"You'll love the Opera House after a bit," Meg assured me cheerfully as we walked into an affordable café where others from the Opera House were already eating. "Most everyone is kind enough. Jammes is sweet…and Sorelli isn't too bad. A little arrogant, though, but then again Comte Philippe favors her and she is one of the principal dancers. No, they are all good people mostly…except Carlotta! _Mon Dieu_, how could I forget her? She's an absolute terror! Always screeching at everyone to get her this, give her that, move out of her way…and she's a horrible singer! I don't know how she's lasted so many seasons—the maids always plug their ears with cotton! But I suppose being famous and Spanish does give you quite a following. When she first started she actually had a pretty voice. Now she's just awful. And she has the managers wrapped around her fat finger—they act as if she is their boss and not the other way around." Meg sighed, finally seeming to come to a stop. I smiled to myself; Meg was very amusing to listen to as she got herself so excited no matter what she was talking about.

Meg and I spent the rest of the remaining hour after lunch wandering around the Opera House as Meg pointed out things here and there and told me stories that seemed to go with everything. "Do you see that little staircase there, by the footlights?" Meg pointed it out as she continued, "Well it goes down to the cellars. And Joseph Buquet—our main sceneshifter—swears that he saw the Opera Ghost down there once."

"The Opera Ghost?" I repeated, quite confused.

"Oh yes, well you must know about the Ghost! Sometimes he is called the Phantom of the Opera…" She waited for me to affirm that yes, indeed, I had heard of him, come to think of it. I shook my head slightly and Meg gasped. "Well then I shall tell you!" exclaimed she. "Now, the Ghost has been haunting the Opera House here for a few months already. He is tricksy and evil, to be sure, for he causes all sorts of mischief and accidents. Some would say there's no proof—but I've seen him myself, and I'm sure that he is the cause of all these mishaps."

"You've seen him?" I asked, surprised by Meg's naïve nature. Mamma might think it hypocritical of me for doubting Meg's tale of ghosts while I keep believing in my Angel, but it's different. I am sure of it.

"Oh yes!" She replied, nodding her head fervently, "He's quite tall and thin as a skeleton and wears dress clothes. And his face—_mon Dieu_, it's ghastly! His skin is red and thin with blue veins all over. He has no nose, just a nasty black hole, and his eyes are so frightening! They are like cats' eyes—yellow and omniscient—and it's like he can look right through you to your soul. It's as if he can see your thoughts and fears. It gives me terrible chills just to think about it!" Meg's eyes were indeed now two huge blue orbs and her face had paled considerably.

I thought it best to go along with her story and sympathize with her. "Goodness, Meg, that sounds horrifying! I hope we shall not meet the Ghost today or any time soon!"

She appeared to think my reaction of genuine concern and slipped her hand in mine. "So do I, Christine, so do I."

Perhaps I was being too skeptical. Maybe there really was an Opera Ghost or a Phantom or specter of some sort. But if he was real and lived here, in this very Opera House, than maybe, just maybe, that meant that my Angel could be here too.


	3. Meeting the Angel

**A/N: Hello again! One minor change in the last chapter that carries into this chapter (very, very subtle, though). I had originally said that the performers' dinner break was from 4-6, which was very dumb and American of me. So to clear it up, I have changed their rehearsal schedule from 2-9 with their nights open. Very nitpicky of me, I** **know, but I have gotten some odd nitpick reviews in previous attempts at writing. Oh, and Jammes' first name is Cecile. I found it on page 18 of the original PotO.**

**Yes, the lyrics are altered. Yes, there will be lyrics in the phic. Will it be based around the lyrics? God, I should hope not, that would be tedious, but as this is a retelling weaving together all different versions and putting them in Christine's POV, I admit there will be lyrics. Why you may ask? Well I believe that the Angel of Music would have come to her through…well, for lack of a better word…music. I probably won't have all the songs in here, but I will definitely put in the EC ones. **

**To my dear anonymous reviewer:** Oh my God! I was so tickled to find someone reading who actually knows who Nightwish is (are?)! And yes, I see your point that PotO by Nightwish would work better, and I know there are tons of Beauty and the Beast themed songs that somewhat correlate to Phantom, but I am very fond of Ocean Soul and I was thinking particularly of the lines "I only wished to become something beautiful/through my music/through my silent devotion." So yeah…

**Authorgirl **and **Mirror of a masked soul: **Thank you both so much for your support! I hope you continue to read and enjoy :)

**Mirror to my Soul: **Ooh, your review made me squeal with glee! I am so thrilled that you like it so and that you find it credible. That is possibly the best compliment one can get when writing fanfiction! Good luck with that AP homework :)

**OOOOO**

The days passed quickly and melted together. Before I knew it an entire month had gone by. I still had not caught a glimpse of the Phantom, nor of my Angel, but I continued to hold out hope for the latter. Meg was right about the performers at the Opera House—they were sociable enough with the exception of the infamous Carlotta. But even with my new busy life, the empty feeling that had come with the death of my father remained.

It was not until May, when the three-month mark of my coming to the Opera House was near that it happened.

It was around ten and most of the other performers were out to dinner and wouldn't be back for another hour or more. I had told Meg and Cecile to go on without me as I had a bit of a headache. Meg was very sweet and brought me some tea before tucking me into bed with a kiss on my forehead and a promise to return around midnight. Cecile even gave me her little coral ring to ward off bad luck. She said that I needed it more as I would be alone and the Ghost might come for me. I shivered then, but it might have just been from a sudden chill. Perhaps I was indeed coming down with something.

I waited until they disappeared down the corridor and their voices had faded into the rare silence that filled the Opera House around this time. When I was sure that Meg and Cecile had exited the building I slipped out of bed and pulled my shawl around my shoulders. Next I lit a candle, took my little bag filled with dear mementos from under my bed, and set off for the chapel.

I had begun visiting the chapel upon the first week I came to live at the Opera House. I liked to go at this time, or in the middle of the night when I knew no one would disturb me. I highly suspected that I was the only one using it, in fact, as most of the other performers kept to their own personal superstitions or contented themselves with wearing crosses or the like to protect them from evil spirits. Nonetheless I preferred to go when all else was quiet, for the quiet times were the times that left my mind to wander to unpleasant memories and caused me great sorrow.

Upon entering the chapel I set off to work placing the small framed photograph of my father on the table and lighting the candles. Then bowing my head, I began to pray. I prayed long and hard, begging God to send me the Angel my father had spoken of. Despite my new friends I was terribly lonely and felt as if I was lost. I made God promises and deals, saying that if he sent my Angel to me that I would sing again, that if he made my Angel appear than I should never ask for anything again, that if only I had my Angel I would no longer be the sullen little girl who grieved for her father's loss too long. It had been over a year since he died, and the proper mourning stage should have come to a close weeks ago. I waited for a while after I finished, half-expecting something to happen. My candle burned low and I began to cry again; my prayers had gone unanswered. _Father…please…_I buried my face in my shawl and sobbed. What else was I to do? What would bring my Angel to me?

Then an idea came…perhaps I was supposed to sing. But could I? Was it something one forgot after a time? What if I opened my mouth and nothing came out? Had my voice dried up like a flower parched by a drought? Maybe I would get credit for trying at least.

So with a low deep breath, I brushed my thoughts away and began to sing. I sang my favorite song—the song of my Angel of Music. As I sang, I could almost hear my father's violin accompanying me and when I closed my eyes I could see the crowds of people milling about in the streets, stopping to listen to the violinist and his little girl with the voice of an Angel. My favorite memories of singing with my father came flying back to me and filled me up with a calm, warming sensation. Suddenly I was eight again and I was singing at the Midsummer festival. The grass felt soft under my feet and the sun shone down on the throng of people gathered and dancing. I watched the older girls round the maypole and smelled the sweet scent of flowers and things growing under the lazy, summer sun. Later, I ate pickled herring, boiled new potatoes with dill, soured cream, raw red onions, and for dessert fresh strawberries and cream. I remember the older girls giggling as they ate their dream porridge and picked flowers to lay under their pillows. When I fell asleep my father carried me home in his arms.

I came to the end of the song and held the last note out as I gorged myself on the memories, wanting to make this painless remembrance last as long as possible. When at last the note faded into the night air the quiet rushed in again so forcefully it almost strangled me. I had forgotten what joy it brought me to sing.

By now the absence of my Angel was searing hot and hopelessness fell over me once more. Well, I had tried at least. I shook my head at myself. Had I really thought that this was enough? Had I really after all these years still kept believing there was magic in the world? No, I knew now, magic was a lie. A poisonous illusion. I was disgusted with myself for being so immature. Was I honestly too naïve to believe that I had been deceived? Apparently so.

I made to blow out the candle (which had burnt low indeed in the few hours that I had spent here) and collect my things when a voice stopped me.

"_Christine…Christine…_

…_Christine…"_

I was stunned! Had I imagined that? "Angel?" I asked incredulously, the word slipping out before I could stop myself.

"_Wandering child, so lost, so helpless,_

_Yearning for my guidance!"_

Without thinking I answered: _"Angel or father? _

_Friend or phantom?_

_Who is it there staring?"_

The voice replied: _"Have you forgotten your Angel?"_

Shocked by the questioning accusation I exclaimed: _"Angel, oh speak!_

_What endless longings_

_Echo in the whisper!"_

"_Too long you've wandered in winter_

_Far from my far-reaching gaze…"_

"_Wildly my mind beats against you…"_

"_You resist…"_

"_**Yet the soul obeys!"**_

"_Angel of Music, my protector_

_Come to me, Strange Angel!"_

"Oh, Angel! I thought you had forsaken me! Why did you not come till now?" I asked, overcome with emotion.

"You never asked," was the reply.

I was confused. "Of course I did..." I mulled that response over in my head. Perhaps he was right, perhaps I never actually did ask. Come to think of it, I suppose I didn't… "You won't leave me, though, will you, Angel? Now that you're here I don't think I could bear it if you disappeared."

"I am here as long as you wish it, Christine." That answer satisfied me. I smiled to myself. "You had best return to the dormitories, though, my dear, it is quite late. I do believe your friends will be looking for you."

"Oh my!" I gasped. I had completely lost track of the time. I noticed that I was rather tired indeed. "I expect you're right." I turned to leave reluctantly, picking up my bag and shawl. "You'll come back soon, won't you? Tomorrow, even?"

"I shall be here every night at ten, Christine. Your attendance is entirely up to you."

Another smile broke out on my face. "Good. I should like that very much. Goodnight, Angel."

"Goodnight, Christine."

I practically floated back to my room—my Angel had come! After all this time…and he was here all along! I felt as if my heart would burst with joy! I did a pirouette as I was so ecstatic and promptly ran into Meg and knocked her over. "Goodness, Meg! I'm awfully sorry! Are you alright?" I offered my hand to help her up.

"Christine, where were you? Jammes and I have been looking everywhere for you—she's quite distraught."

"Oh, Meg dear, I truly am sorry. I just was feeling so lonely and ill so I made a trip to the chapel to pray. I must have fallen asleep there." For some reason I didn't want to tell Meg about my Angel right now. I wanted to keep him to myself for a while first.

"I see," Meg sighed with relief, "Please tell us next time, Christine, for we were very worried."

"Absolutely," I assured her. "Come let's go make sure Cecile hasn't fainted from excitement." Meg laughed and we linked arms. She chattered incessantly like always and I found it comforting to hear her voice again. It was if everything was new to me and more beautiful. I felt as if I could kiss everyone and everything—even Carlotta! When we returned we explained the situation to Cecile and we laughed over the miscommunication. We gossiped until late in the night and when my two friends finally fell asleep I laid awake in a dream-state and replayed the meeting with my Angel in my head. He had such a lovely voice…there was no mistaking he truthfully was the Angel of Music. And he was all mine.


	4. Alone

A/N: Wow. I really wish that I had a great excuse for not updating. Let me try to explain: PSATs and SATs, writing a children's book with some friends (and getting it published and all that—it's actually harder to work with other people on the same very small project!), Honors courses, the play, Drama Club (President), and lots of personal issues along the way. Dear Lord help me. So reviews would be appreciated, just so that I know that you're there. And **I will try to start a regular update schedule** now that the play is over. Of course holidays make my Choir director crazy, so we'll see. (Not like I'm in anything for that, but she kind of seems to zap out all of my energy when singing at eight in the morning.)

Jaquie: I will PM you future chapters once I get on a schedule. Scouts honor. And I'll just send you another PM to fill you in on all this crap that is life. Love you, hope all's well. And start writing again!! I send you cape twirls and inspiration fairies.

So now that I have ranted on and on, I give you (a very short, but hey! It's a start) chapter.

**OOOOO**

The next few months passed as quickly as the first, though much more pleasantly. Now that my Angel had come to me, everything seemed different. Perhaps it was just the knowledge that I was no longer alone. It was strange…but to me it was if he was always with me wherever I was. And to think I even doubted him for a moment! I am ashamed looking back at my lack of belief, for I soon saw how real my Angel was. Yet, I still had not told Meg and Cecile of him, though I did tell Mamma Valerius. I'm not entirely sure if she believed me, as she peered at me very oddly when I informed her that the Angel of Music had visited me. I wonder what she would have said if I had told her that he gave me voice lessons every night in the Opera chapel!

My Angel and I had a routine. After everyone else was asleep or off somewhere doing things that I did not care to think of, I would slip out of bed and head for the chapel. I didn't bother with a candle, as I feared the light would wake the others. I knew my way around well enough by now and I knew that my Angel would keep me safe. Besides, he had already taught me how beautiful the night truly was. Darkness was no longer uncertain and dangerous, but rather comforting and oddly seductive. There was something about the night that was magical. I began to believe that nighttime was when spirits and angels visited, and therefore, I looked forward to them with anticipation.

When I arrived at the chapel I would sing for him and he would instruct me, pushing me to my limits and helping me to break the boundaries that stood between me and perfection. One by one, and together, we eliminated the ugliness and manipulated it into beauty. We erased the flaws into oblivion, leaving ourselves in a world of intense sublimity. With my Angel, I could do anything.

The next few years of my life passed uneventfully. I started spending more time with Mamma Valerius, as she insisted on teaching me to be a proper lady. The extra hours that had once been spent playing with dolls and make-believe where now filled with long walks in which Meg, Cecile, and I would wander around Paris and look at the latest fashions through the glass windowpanes. I always had a busy schedule with all the performances and my nightly voice lessons, and it helped to while away the long hours. As much as I adored ballet, I still dreamed of being the next Prima Donna. I felt that Carlotta's reign was lasting far too long.

Besides that, life was getting terribly lonely again. In the spring of my sixteenth year, Mamma took ill. She grew terribly weak and I was warned by doctors that recovery was highly unlikely. Instead of feeling comforted whenever I went home, it seemed that the whole house was filled with a quiet and ominous despair. It was no longer the warm and cheery haven that it once was. No one came to call and most the rooms went unused since Mamma was confined to her bedchambers. The salon, which had always been my favorite place in the whole house, was now dark and cold; the door always firmly shut to keep out a draft from the large picture window. The garden was no longer tended to on a regular basis, so most weekends I would spend my time out there with my boots covered in mud and my sleeves rolled up as I ripped the weeds from the earth and coaxed the blossoms to life. I was determined to make the flowerbeds flourish, as I had begun to feel as if everything I touched died.

I went home one weekend in mid May to find Mamma a great deal worse. When Odette, Mamma's maid and cook, left me in her face was paled considerably and her gray eyes wide with worry. Without a word she led me to Mamma's room.

I pulled a chair up to Mamma's bed and took her hand in mine. Her skin was cold and I could feel every bone, thin and brittle between my fingers. Her once rosy skin was almost translucent, and it seemed as if she had aged another five years in the past week. "Mamma," I whispered to her, my voice oddly steady considering the way the anxiety of the situation was making my head spin. Slowly she opened her eyes and smiled faintly at me. Her arm shook as she reached up and pushed some stray curls behind my ear. The gesture made tears well up in my eyes. My throat was unbearably dry as I tried to speak. But my mind went blank—what could I possibly say to her now? She seemed to understand and held her arms out for me. I crawled into the bed with her and curled up against her, letting myself be twelve again. She rocked me with what must have been the last of her strength as I cried into her nightgown. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to behave like a proper lady and keep my emotions in check. I was supposed to sit here with her in her last minutes and tell her all of the right things in her last moments. I was supposed to help her relive all the wonderful memories and laugh with her over past experiences. Perhaps I should have even sung to her, one last hymn to follow her to heaven. But I didn't do any of that. I just lay there; holding on to her, thinking that if I prayed hard enough this would all go away.

I felt her dry lips on my forehead as she kissed me. I kept my eyelids squeezed shut, safe in my own little cocoon of darkness behind my eyelids. When I opened them, she was gone.


	5. Alone II

A/N: Hello my darlings! I realized that this particular chapter and the last one were pretty much one chapter broken in two, but oh well. And I know that things are a bit slow right now, but I wanted to set up more of a background with Erik and Christine. The next chapter should (and if not the next one then the following one) incorporate the beginning of the musical. Thank you so much for your support!

OOOOO

Odette shook me awake gently. "Come, Miss Christine, you'd best wake now."

I pushed myself up into a sitting position. I was incredibly stiff from lying, curled up fully clothed, for the past two days. It was Monday morning, and as much as I would rather stay in Mamma's house and hide under the covers, I would have to face my life sooner or later. _Besides,_ I told myself_, it is probably best that I return to the Opera House now. I have my friends there and my Angel. I cannot stay where there is nothing left for me._

I readied myself to leave and Odette helped me pack a few extra trinkets that I wanted. Odette asked me if I wouldn't like to go say goodbye one last time. But I just couldn't. I stood in front of the door, willing myself to go in. Yet I could not bring myself to do it. Somehow the thought of Mamma lying in her bed, dead and waiting for her funeral unnerved me to no end. I bit my lip to hold the tears at bay. Tears were for children.

Each step forward towards the Opera House was a knife and a balm at once. Over the years, the Opera House had become my home…but to know that it was my _only_ home, well, that was different. It was the last place I had left in the world, and if it failed me then I was utterly and completely alone.

At the same time, something in me began to change. I had nothing left to hold me back now, and in a way that freed me from all expectations. As despairing as it was to not have a preplanned purpose, it also meant that I no longer was forced to become something that I didn't want. But I would have done anything not to be alone. Even if it meant giving up what little I still had.

OOOOO

Practices ran late the next few nights since we were preparing for our impending production of _Faust_. By the time we had finished rehearsal, it was all I could do to drag my tired limbs to the dormitories and fall into bed. Some nights I was too exhausted and sore even to change out of my practice clothes. Needless to say, I didn't get the chance to visit my Angel until the weekend.

I spent the majority of my Saturday sleeping. I was drained and stressed out from having to answer everyone's questions last night about Mamma. One of the other dancers had overheard me telling Meg and Cecile and before I knew it I had a crowd of girls surrounding me and whispering amongst each other. When everyone finally left, well after midnight, it took me hours to fall asleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Mamma Valerius or Papa. I didn't have any dreams that night, but instead was encompassed by strong emotions of grief and anguish. I couldn't decide if I preferred that to nightmares.

That evening I went to the chapel early to pray. As ten o'clock drew closer I began to worry that my Angel would not come as punishment for my lack of devotion. If I were he, I would indeed be furious with my lack of attendance. And besides, in the last few years my Angel had made certain guidelines for me to live by if I still wished his presence. I remember one night in particular when I told him of my childhood sweetheart, Raoul. He replied with such vengeance that I was quite taken aback and he made me swear never to take a lover if I wished to continue my lessons. I will admit that a part of me was terribly disappointed (for I had always been mesmerized by the love between a man and woman), but I was quite certain that I would rather have my Angel than some faded memory. As I kneeled on the floor, awaiting his arrival, I tried to calm myself with reason: angels were supposed to be forgiving and merciful, were they not? But my ponderings were of little consequence; soon I would have my answer.

I sensed him before I heard him. Since he made no attempt to speak with me, I thought that I had best explain myself. "I am sorry I have not come lately, Angel. Practices ran late and…" I trailed off, not sure what else to say. His silence shamed me and I lowered my eyes to the cold stone floor. A long moment passed and I bit my lip to keep the tears at bay. "Mamma died this weekend," I offered as if that would excuse me from everything. "I wanted to come, truly I did, but I've been so tired …" A metallic taste in my mouth told me that I had bitten too hard.

"I'm terribly sorry, Christine. I know you were close to her." Indeed he did sound remorseful and I was touched by the genuine emotion in his voice. "But come now; in losing her you have not also lost your life's purpose. Besides, I imagine soon enough your career should progress, and that will keep you far too busy to spend time wallowing over the past." I didn't quite see where he was going with this; Carlotta had quite the following, and despite my advancement I doubted I would even get the chance to understudy for a role. In fact, I was fairly certain that no one was aware of my accomplishments. Still, being a chorus girl was strenuous enough during the performance season. Even in the months between productions we remained far from idle. Besides, it probably would be for the best to focus on my career. After all, what else did I still have left?

My Angel pulled me from my thoughts abruptly and suggested that we begin rehearsing. Eager to concentrate on something else, I threw myself into it wholeheartedly and let myself pretend that everything was as it should be. I imagined myself on stage as Marguerite singing the finale "_Anges Purs, Anges Radieux."_ At the very end the audience would give me a standing ovation and Papa and Mamma Valerius would be in the front row, beaming with pride. When I returned to my dressing room it would be filled with roses and lilies and irises and carnations and flowers of all other sorts. Then I'd change out of my costume and run down to the chapel where my Angel would be waiting, but this time as a real man. Other times it was Raoul who met me in the great foyer. He would kiss the back of my hand and pledge his undying love for me. And so I would live in complete bliss with the crowd at my feet and my Angel at my side.

For several hours I entertained myself with these girlish fantasies as I practiced. The times I thought of Raoul, I imagined him whisking me away in his carriage to fancy restaurants and elegant parties. Part of me would feel regret for thinking of Raoul in this way. I had promised my Angel not to let romance get in the way. The other half of the time I daydreamed about my Angel and visualized him on stage singing with me. He would be beautiful and real and mine! Yet I couldn't help but wonder to myself if it was some sort of sacrilege to be in love with an Angel. I prayed to God that it was not.

Early in the morning I began to wear out. I had been energetic and excited because of the thrill of my fancies, but I was only human, and the dramatic ups and downs of my week had tired me. The third time I yawned and missed three measures my Angel decided we had accomplished enough for tonight. I thanked him for his guidance and gathered my candle and shawl. Just as I went out I thought I heard him say, "You shall never _truly_ be alone, for I will never leave you." I turned around again and called out, but he had left. So I floated back to my room with the words of the song still resounding in my head.


	6. First Impressions and Second Glances

A/N: Sorry for the delay. More personal drama then I care to mention. I hope there are still a few of you out there!

Just something to point out: this fanfiction is a combination of the musical and a bit of my own interpretation. To keep in theme with the original, the theater is performing "Faust" not "Hannibal." The lines may not be word for word the same as the 2004 version, but that is not my intent. Also as a side note, I may have conjugated 'venir' wrong. It's a command addressed to many people so I know that you have to use "vous"…the point is, if you know for sure that it's incorrect, don't hesitate to let me know. French grammar is _not_ my strong point.

Much thanks to my beta and faithful reviewer, **Mademoiselle Christine Daaé**, and my recent reviewers: **Mirror to My Soul**, **Mirror of a Masked Soul**, **Skoteinos Metamfiezomai**

**OOOOO**

The day before opening night M. Lefevre interrupted our rehearsal (much to M. Reyer and Mme. Giry's chagrin) and introduced us to MM. Richard Firmin and Gilles Andre. He announced that they would be taking his place as manager since he had finally seen enough success to retire decently.

"Didn't they just make a fortune in the junk business?" one of the older dancers asked under her breath.

"In the paper M. Andre referred to it as 'scrap metal'," giggled another.

The first girl snorted unattractively. "Well, they must be rich." Her friend smiled coyly and looked through her lashes at them in a seductive manner. I raised my eyebrows at Meg and Cecile. Some of the girls here were so desperate.

The larger of the two men opened his mouth to announce something. He had an air about him that gave one the impression that he thought very highly of himself. "We're deeply honored to introduce our new patron, the Vicomte de Chagny." There was a round of applause as a handsome young man walked in, led by one of the maids. My jaw dropped at the sight of him—it was Raoul! I felt Meg elbow me in the ribs and could see her grin out of the corner of my eye. Cecile made a little sigh on my other side. I must say that he looked dashing in his fine suit; every bit of the nobleman he was. He certainly had grown up. I put my hand to my heart as if to attempt to slow its beating.

"My brother and I are honored to support all the arts; especially the world-renowned Opera Populaire." I felt dizzy as I watched him smile at the performers and nod his head to the managers. Carlotta sashayed up to him and held her hand out. Then the rest of the main cast was introduced and I watched with a strange sense of pride as Raoul politely greeted each of them. He was the epitome of a Prince Charming.

Unfortunately for my viewing pleasure (and the other girls', I might add), he made his excuses and left us to recommence our rehearsal. Mme. Giry struck her cane against the wooden floor as M. Remy started up the orchestra. "Places!" Meg, Cecile and I scurried off with the other dancers to our area. "Allez, venez!"

For the rest of the hour M. Lefevre took the new managers around the stage, showing them how everything worked. Lucky for them, they got to experience one of Carlotta's tantrums in full force.

Not a second after the number was finished, she began to shriek unmercifully. From what I heard, it seemed that one of the younger girls had accidentally stepped on the long train of Carlotta's dress. She was apologizing profusely, but Carlotta paid her no heed and instead began to whine about the MM. Firmin and Andre not paying any attention to her. "…I 'ope 'e is as excited by dancing girls as your new managers. Beecause I weel not be seenging!" With that she stomped off leaving Ubaldo, her maid, and her wigmaker to follow her out.

"What do we do?!" The MM. yelped.

M. Lefevre massaged his temples and replied in a strained voice, "Grovel! Grovel!"

I must admit it was rather amusing to watch the two grown men chase after her, a stream of absurd compliments pouring out of their mouths like water from a pitcher. M. Lefevre often resorted to flattery and bribery, but somehow (unlike these men) he managed to keep his dignity. Meg whispered something about how long she thought they'd last in my ear and we chuckled with the rest of the cast as MM. Firmin and Andre practically threw themselves at her feet.

Regrettably, the foolish men convinced her to sing for them, as a sort of preview of her 'musical excellence.' She pouted a bit about it originally, but she would never refuse the opportunity to be in the spotlight. I braced myself for the fresh hell that was about to occur.

To her credit, she started out decently. However, she had an unfortunate tendency to swoop into higher notes and it gave her the sound of a dying goose. I entertained myself with the image of a plump goose dressed in an ornate costume belting out Marguerite's final aria. As she hit a particularly sour note a curious thing happened. The curtain dropped down right on top of her! The air was filled with gasps and screams and exclamations of "It's the Phantom of the Opera! He did this!"

"Buquet! For God's sake, man, what's going on up there?"

"Please, Monsieur, don't look at me! As God's my judge I wasn't at my post!" Lefevre eyed him skeptically. "Please, Monsieur! There's no one there!" Buquet sounded as exasperated as Lefevre looked. He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. Then, from somewhere above on the catwalks an envelope fluttered down to the stage floor. "Or if there is, well then, it must be a ghost…" Cecile and Meg both shivered beside me.

In the brief confusion, Carlotta seemed to be forgotten. She was just about to storm off when M. Andre ran up to her. "Signora, these things do happen."

She let out a tremendous cry of melodramatic anguish and jabbed her finger at M. Lefevre's chest. "For the past three years theese things do 'appen! And did you stop them from 'appening? No! And _you two_!" Carlotta rounded on the new managers, both of whom were looking a bit shaken at the day's occurrence. "You are as bad as 'im! '_Theese things do 'appen_'!" She let out another exasperated howl. "Until you stop theese things from 'appening, _this_ thing _does not_ 'appen!" She snapped for Ubaldo and Andiamo. Ubaldo glared at the new managers and muttered "Amateurs!" under his breath. Carlotta called out once more as she flounced through the door, "Now you see. Bye-bye, I am leeving!"

M. Lefevre turned towards his successors. "Gentlemen, good luck. If you need me I shall be in Austria." M. Andre let out a whimper. I almost felt bad for them. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into.

Matters turned to the subject of the Opera Ghost as Mme. Giry read the note aloud and attempted to explain the relationship the Ghost had with the performers and managers of the Opera House. Andre, being the nervous and gullible type seemed easily persuaded of the Ghost's existence, but Firmin had too much logic in him to swallow the theater's myth so simply. Mme. Giry sighed as she tried to enlighten M. Firmin to who _really_ ran the show around here, but M. Firmin was having none of that.

"Oh well," Meg murmured, "it's _his_ fault that he chooses not to believe it. I should think he'll learn quickly enough when the Ghost comes to murder him in his bed!" Cecile nodded reverently, her gray eyes wide as saucers. I kept silent and instead focused my gaze straight ahead, determined not to show how skeptical my beliefs were in the matter.

I was suddenly yanked from my subdued reverie when I heard Madame say, "Christine Daaé could sing it, sir."

My heart leapt into my mouth. "A chorus girl? Don't be silly," Andre scoffed.

Mme. Giry came immediately to my defense. "She has been taking lessons from a great teacher."

"Who?" the mousy man barked at me.

"I…" I couldn't tell them that my tutor was an angel! They would sooner believe in the Phantom then some heavenly being instructing a little orphaned nobody how to sing like a Prima Donna. "I don't know his name, Monsieur."

"Let her sing for you, Monsieur," Madame insisted, "She has been well taught."

The managers exchanged glances and Firmin nodded. "Come girl, don't be shy."

M. Reyer looked at me with a bored expression. It was clear that no one expected much. "From the beginning of the aria then, Mademoiselle."

Firmin muttered something to Andre about this 'doing nothing for his nerves.' As if it was any consolation, Andre assured him that I was very pretty. The opening measures were played and I took as low and deep of a breath as my nerves would allow.

Then a strange but wonderful thing happened. It was if all the tension in my body and mind was drained from me and I was filled with a tidal wave of confidence. My Angel must have been nearby. So I smiled my brightest and sang for him, pouring all that I was into that short little aria. I felt as if I were floating far above my body, as if I had melted away until the only thing left was my voice and I rose to the beautiful ceiling and lost myself in the colors and notes. It was a sense of complete euphoria—no doubt, no fear, and no loneliness. And for the first time in a long time I felt entirely _alive_.


End file.
